The Adelaide music scene: to many of you it might be little more than a touring speed bump between Melbourne and Perth but to us it's a way of life. Feast within, on all its dysfunctioning splendour, as we bring you the highly satirical, laughingly fictional and intellectually imbecile tales from our rock & roll wasteland...

Sometimes you come across weeks so jam packed full of retina bursting incandescence that quite like a moth hurtling towards the sun you wish you could be everywhere at once to capture it all and bask in it's near suicidal luminescence. A week with so many choices, so many shiny things to see and so many wondrous places to be and yet its all forever out've our reach; limited as we are by the simple yet utterly insurmountable constraints of time and space, our hopelessly limited electromagnetic perceptive filters, our base oscillation receptors, our ridiculously antiquated olfactant sponging and our crass promixity collision sensors. If only we could possess full awareness and control of all 11 of our dimensions in this expansive multiverse we could bridge the great divide and sweep all before us like conquering pantheon of gods. Yet here we are slave to a linear trajectory, cursed to the confines of this "meat space", lurching forward from coordinate A to coordinate B and forever late to arrive; stumbling on barely evolved bipedal locomotion, fumbling with our internal combustion driven machinery, hopelessly reliant on frequent digestive inputs of carbohydrates, proteins, water and oxygen. No wonder we are prone to such constant malfunction, malfeasance and mortal collapse if THIS is the way we choose to interact with the infinite. Alas! as much as I wish, I cannot be witness to everything you artists provide for my amusement. Through my utter lack of omniscience I'm even finding trouble these days coexisting in just two places at once. Ack! a curse on this "meat space" for forcing me to rely on such limiting powers! I cannot edit my experience at will, I lack the science, technology and shamanistic rites to bridge the great divide, there is no multichannel record, no quickload, no restart, no console and no cheat codes I could activate to facilitate my transposition. Anywhere but here! Everywhere AND here! So much to see and so little time to do it all!!

As such, limited so by this biodegrading "meat-shell" we call "SPOZ", I hereby apologise to all omniscient and omnipresent beings tuning in for this week's installment of SPOZ's RANT, I know I promised you ever so much and I really wish I could offer you more, but alas, I am only one person and I lack the means to appease you.

The rest of you mortal beings however, will continue to wonder how I'm not dead yet :)

MONDAY NIGHTAs a direct continuation in the march of death that was the 13 bands I photographed and reviewed last week and the 14 bands I captured in likeness the week before, being near insane enough to drag myself through THIS behemoth in rock so soon would've surely been my last will and testament. And yet, only 12 hours (and little or no sleep) since last putting pointer to "publish" I find myself at it again tonight. Surely anywhere but here is where I should've been, surely I should've been hooked up to an IV drip with my feet up and tended to around the clock by a dedicated team of psychiatrists and liver specialists but clearly the powers-that-be had other plans: Lady Strangelove, Wolf & Cub and Wolfmother here at the Adelaide Uni Barr Smith Lawns? All this ear melting psychedelica all in the one place and on the one night!? How could I possibly refuse!? (fuck I'm such a crack addict for this shit!)

LADY STRANGELOVEEven before I arrived at 6:30PM, I could already hear the erupting volcano of hooting applause drowning out the chainsaw synths of opening act Lady Strangelove and could see the darkening cloud of circling wings ready to rain bat guano over the stage as I was walking down Victoria drive. Sensing the escalating chaos building in the air, I passed through the various security check points and despite a complete "moving and still camera" ban tonight (as written on all the tickets) I still managed to smuggle in my compact CYBER-SHOT sniper rifle intact. YES! As such tho' I didn't wanna take any chances, tonight would be a covert ninja mission, I had to keep my distance, keep out've eyeshot of security out front and rely on an exceptionally crappy 6x digital zoom to shit all over my head shots from afar. Bugger! Still, all these nigglings were soon forgotten when I witnessed the pandemonium erupting before me on stage. Lady Strangelove were on fire tonight! I don't think I've EVER seen them this excited before! Like spastic toddlers they ran around flapping their arms, crashing into each other laughing and tearing up a screaming tornado the likes of which most of the poor unprepared fools here tonight would've never witnessed before (some idiots in the crowd were even heard to shriek "YAY! STOCKDALE!! WOOOOO!!" when they spotted Josh the guitarist on stage, mistakingly thinking he was the lead singer from Wolfmother hahahaha!). The entire set blazed thru like a blitzkreig in just over 30 minutes, like Led Zeppelin and the Chemical Brothers mashed up into an extended 2ManyDJ's 12 inch on a peyote deathwish into the desert, culminating in a shit storm of cascading noise as Azz smashed his bass guitar to splinters before us whilst the rest of the band fled the stage like madcapped children to the cheers of everyone in the crowd begged for more. Yup, they may've begun as nobody's to most of these people tonight, but after this set they left us as conquering heroes.. woooooo!

WOLF & CUBFollowing up at 8PM we have second act WOLF & CUB, looking ever so frisky and shiny fresh from their world tour and ready to kick some serious donkey ass here tonight! or more accurately near dead, stale and circling the drain with vultures buzzing around their heads. It may've just been me half dead and circling the drain meself tonight, but from what I could see and hear, they felt like the sum total of every single worst hangover you've experienced in the last year combined with the tail end of every "War is Hell" movie you've seen in your lifetime. Every song was tuned down to the sound of turgid mud. Recogniseable hits like "This Mess", "A Thousand Cuts" and "Steal Their Gold" were twisted and distorted into such a gurgling sea of incoherancy, it appears everyone involved on stage were sick to death of playing them and were now giving them a viking funeral. Lead singer Joel Byrne (aka: Cousin It) looked like he was about to drop dead any minute, Thomas Mayhew (aka: Chewbacca) looked like he was hugging the bass amp for dear life, whilst Joel Carey (aka: Thom Yorke Jnr) and Adam Edwards (aka: That "Other" Guy) were only still happily drumming away since it was obviously to all that they'd been replaced by robots since the Japanese wing of their world tour, as the real drummers had obviously been declared dead weeks ago (or quite possibly way too stoned and in search of munchies at the nearest 24/7). Yup, I'd seen these guys at their best, I knew of the sublime witches brew they were capable of, but tonight duuuuude they just looked ill. Somebody seriously needs to give them a bucket of aspirin before their head's explode out here. Ouch!

WOLFMOTHERFinally at 9:15PM, with me feeling altogether like I too was in a serious need of a bucket of aspirin and an elephant gun of tranquilisers (considering this was #30 in a long list of bands I'd witnessed in just two weeks and I don't think I'd caught a wink of slept since) Wolfmother finally make their appearance on stage. The crowd around me is a screaming frenzy, packed to lung puncturing density and consisting of a conflicting mix of (a) stoner art-rock geeks, (b) preppy fashion nazis, (c) middle-aged bogans from the northern suburbs, (d) skinhead bikie thugs thirsting for blood, (f) teenage cannon fodder and I'm pretty certain only half of these people are gonna get out've here alive. Of course there's really no point describing this set in detail tonight: if you have the album or ever flicked on the radio in the last 2 years you pretty much know it all already: crank that stereo to the point that the walls start rattling, turn out the lights, turn on the xmas tree decorations, pull out the smoke alarm batteries and dutch the house out till the neighbours get stoned off the side stream and that'd be your monkey here tonight. Out've all the predictable hits (ie: the entire freaking album) they did play ONE new shiny new cut however in the form of the new song "Pleased To Meet You" off the upcoming Spiderman 3 soundtrack (*cough* sellouts!) Still, as predictable as it all was, after 90 minutes plus a whole host of fuckoff encores, it still made for one helluva freakjam set.

Wolfmother finally leave the stage at 11:15PM, the crowd continues to beg for more for what feels like hours, the time now ticks past 11:30PM, security is barking at all the mingling crowds to fuckoff home already and I want nothing more than to drop dead on the spot. I hear there's an afterparty on at Electric Light Hotel. A small part of me still considers the idea of going, before the rest of me drags that small part of me off bound and gagged and tosses him into the dungeon of my subconscious lest he breed a blood clot in my brain the size and temperament of a small elephant. I fight my way through the crowds, I find me a bus at 12AM and I get the fuck out've there as at long last I find that long lost sleep I've been begging for all this time. Aaaaah!

THE END?

Or at least it would've been the end, if we'd all completely forgotten that yet another weekend is always around the corner (a fact that both continually annoys and comforts me quite like a baseball bat to the skull everytime it swings around to remind me each week.. weeeeeee!).

FRIDAY NIGHTAnd so, here we are at it again! After seemingly forever and a day (and finally catching up on some much needed sleep.. *phew!*) Friday night arrives once more and I'm plagued with a multitude of possibilities and no matter which one of these I choose I'm pretty much gonna be screwed over by all the fun I'm gonna miss out on with the other ones (only to be constantly reminded about said "fun" for the next few weeks to boot). Do I choose: (a) Tony Font Show and 200 Motels at the Cranka?, (b) Soft White Machine's album launch supported by Quiet Child and Saving Savanah at The Gov?, or more obscure fringe option (c) My Disco (a band I've been itching to see for ages) supported by a fuckfull of indie cheese at Rocket Bar? It's a bastard of a decision and usually I'd just cheat by catching both A and B (and a sprinkle of C) by channel surfing between sets like a madman, however since we're dealing with the great big fuckoff divide between The Gov and the Cranka and I sure as fuck ain't emptying my already near whistling wallet to the taxi fare between, I'm stuck with only one way out. Both Tony Font Show and Soft White Machine are more than worthy and equal opposing forces, this would normally be seizure enducing to decide, but since Soft White Machine are launching an ALBUM tonight there's no contest. Album launches veto all else. 8PM and The Governor Hindmarsh it is.

Upon arrival I'm soon greeted by a particularly muted and subdued Joe and Simone here, who for befuddling reasons tonight decide to utterly screw up the flow of this week's blog by insisting they be part of a silent blog I posted over 3 weeks ago. Despite repeatively telling them they already starred quite heavily in that exceptionally drunken misadventure I decided to humour them anywaze as chances are they were probably so drunk that night that they didn't remember any of it (or in the case of Joe's hilariously suspect antics with Lee from Tony Font Show, probably CHOSE not to remember any of it bwahahaha!).

*Ahem* but anywaze, back to the action (damn you attention seeking camera whores!! :P )

SAVING SAVANAHFirst band for the night, Saving Savanah hits the stage at 8:45PM. To the casual observer (ie: this lazy-arsed blog reviewer), these guys sounds quite like a "Neon Ballroom" / "Diorama" era Silverchair mixed with a more whiny emo refrain of Muse. Featuring melancholic crooning vocals, geek piano interludes, fuzzing guitars and a drummer sitting so low to the ground you'd almost think a malformed dwarf was beating off back there; I dont quite know how to take these guys, whether to shitkick them or to praise them. They were in essence the lazy-arsed blog reviewer's worst nightmare in that they managed to be so utterly ambiguous in every single way yet still play well enough to make you think they've got something to offer if only your shattered brain could pinpoint it. Still, if you like Muse (and hey who doesn't these days?) and the sounds of Silverchair doesn't make you wanna upchuck all over the walls then chances are you're gonna dig these monkeys.

QUIET CHILDSecond band for the night, Quiet Child, next appear at 9:45PM. As they fill the air with their sweet brooding melacholic doom you are reminded that this is the sorta band your pretentious twat of a friend (who knows better about music than YOU ever will) could easily consider to be THE band of the decade. This same band that he'll then spend the next 6 months constantly reminded you about at every available moment by playing them to such a continuous loop, reciting to you every single half heard interview quote and parroting off all his indepth studies of the finer point of every one of their sung lyrics from all of their entire history as recorded artists, till eventually one day in a fit of rage you snap and beat this said friend to a bloody pulp of spilling internal organs with the bludgeoning end of his coffee table book collection screaming "ENOUGH YOU PRETENSIOUS FUCK!! ENOUGH!! ENOUUUUGHHH!! I GET IT ALREADY!! NAAAUUAUARRRGGHHH!! DIEEE!!" (Radiohead.. *cough* need I say more?) *Ahem* that being said however, Quiet Child are a seriously good band. They're a studied and meticulous band, a gentle and melancholic band, a band like the beautifully soothing and somber moments of Deftones, Team Sleep, A Perfect Circle and Pink Floyd all mixed together. They're technically brilliant on stage with some genuinely powerful and deeply moving moments; but like all bands of this studious ilk it's best to enjoy them in measured doses and stay the fuck away from any heavy machinery lest you make an industrial accident of yourself, for as brilliant as they are, they also tend to put you to sleep. Still, if you can keep all those pretensious fucks the hell away and enjoy these guys in peace with your eyelids taped open to prevent you from dropping into a coma, they really do make for one helluva live act!

SOFT WHITE MACHINEAs I quietly wonder to myself if the cops will ever find that body I buried out in Kaipo Forest (wuh.. what!? I said that out loud!? hahahaha.. *gulp* ooops!) Quiet Child finally finish up their set, all the pretensious fans finally finish madly scribbling down all the half heard lyrics in their notebooks, instruments are shuffled around on stage and the growing audience gather around the front of stage waiting in heated anticipation for the main event tonight. Finally at 11PM, a mass blanket of fog descends upon the audience to herald the dramatic arrival of Soft White Machine and at last the magic begins! Or at least we thought it was, until we realised what we thought was a battery of smoke machines blasting out to full effect was in fact Slappy (from Nick the drummer's stoner jazz experimental act "Delusions Of Grandma") dutching up the back stage with Quiet Child. Ooops, false alarm! With that small diversion finally out've the way (after the two missing drummers from Wolf & Cub finally return from the BP down the road with a bag full of chilli cheese dogs) the set now proceeds according to plan with Soft White Machine blasting out their entire album's worth of songs, from beginning to end in a diabolical punching fury: all set to a technicolour of pulsing lights, haunting smoke and beat matching kaleidoscopic logo backdrop that'd near enough make your retinas water matched with a live PA set so throbbingly loud it could potentially blow your testicles off and reorder your larger intestine if you stood too close to the house speakers.

As you'd expect, this set is nothing short of pants blowingly epicl Mike from Realist Few (who also happens to be their head label monkey from Capital Games) was even starting to tear up with pride as he sees his wee little baby band taking it's first big bold steps into greatness (or at least he did until he realised he was just looking at Karl at the time who looks like a giant spastic toddler at the best of times). This was a landmark moment, a triumph of an album launch, an epic event of stadium rock proportions, everyone's beaming with pride (*sniff* dammit I think I got something in me eye), even this little dude sitting to the side of the stage is rocking it out.. awwww! look at him go! ROCK YOU LITTLE DUDE!! ROCK!! ONE DAY THIS COULD BE YOOOU MAAAN! LIVE THE DREAM!! WOOOOO!! but like all good things, it's over before you know it. Everyone congratulates each other on a job well done, the kid doing air guitars ducks off to do bucketbongs with the massing circle of musicians backstage (what the hell? what's Damo Suzuki and all the idiots from the Grateful Dead doing here?) and then like the flicking off of a lightswitch, everyone's off into the night to drink themselves retarded in celebration weeeeeeeeeeeee!

In passing I briefly drop by the merchandising stand to check out the shiny product "Wow, you mean to tell me they're selling mail order brides here for only $2? wooooooo bargain!"..

..before disappearing off into the night to join my brethren in their alcohol fueled retardation and triumphant album launch celebration..

..which inevitably leads me here, to the place I refuse to name due it's ridiculous familiarity.

I soon find Kim from 200 Motels and this cheerful big nosed freak from Rejusa who amongst many others, manage to fill me in on the gig of the year that I missed here at the Cranka tonight (a gig that many will likely remind me about in weeks to come). A gig so insane that not only did 200 Motels spontaneously combust and explode on stage in one fuckoff tribal booty rock monster of a set (yay they played "Pants! Pants! Pants!" again!), but the crowd density got so insane during Tony Font Show's set that they had to post security on stage just so lead singer Lee could crawl out've the moshpit alive after a misguided crowd surf attempt. Yeeeouch!

Also spotted in the crowd is the ever exciteable dancefloor disaster Sallycat showing off her shiny new piercing, which if you look carefully (for extra ouchy points) is NOT a labret piercing, but is in fact a particularly wacky lip piercing. As someone would rather helpfully point out on the night, "wow that looks really cool! here's hoping it doesn't get infected!".. um yay?

Whilst to cap things off, everyone's warped fantasies come to life here tonight as Kermit the Frog's love children (aka: Ezza and Smashycat) get all up close and personal for the cameras. Yup, sometimes it really IS this "easy" being green! ooooh no wait, look! now they're playing leapfrog! bwaaahahaha! gosh, here's hoping we get our balls on THIS green for a hole in one! woooooo.. yeaaaaah! *drumroll.. boom tish!* ok, I'll stop now! (please don't kill me! :) )

With the stupidity really getting out've hand even for a place as retarding to the braincell count as this one, obviously its best I flee this festering abode of vile imbibements before my jokes get the better of me, and so at 4AM its off on the next taxi home. *Phew* from the looks of it, if you'd stayed home tonight with all this madness afoot? You missed one helluva big one!

SATURDAY NIGHTAgain I'm faced with yet another night of paralysed indecision as yet more competing interests were vying for my attention tonight. Do I pick door #1: Trixie Plain and Taught By Animals at the Exeter, do I pick door #2: Blow Up Betty's EP launch supported by Tony Font Show, or do I pick door #3: Munchkin's shiny new album launch supported by Sojourn, Nervous Gerbal and Superphatass? It's a tough call, Blow Up Betty's EP launch at The Gov would produce some exceptionally cool photos, I'd hate to ditch out on Tony Font Show for a second night running (after reminded me of all the fun I missed LAST night) and Trixie Plain and Taught By Animals would guarentee much alcoholic depravity and art-rock sublimity if I went down THAT road to oblivion and yet in the end my decision has already made for me, as quite like the night before it is the album launch that finally wins by veto. So it's door #3 for me here at Jive at 9PM.

NERVOUS GERBALAfter the epic adventure that was Soft White Machine's album launch I had high expectations for this album launch tonight, perhaps even insane expectations. I expected wacky light shows, I expected full throttle sound systems, I expected hell on earth in spastic pyrotechnic face meltings and a host of grinning corpses splattered to the walls. So it's not altogether helping my enthusiasm levels here tonight tonight when I finally spot first support act Nervous Gerbal stumble their onto the dimly lit stage all scruffy and hungover at 9:45PM, wooping it up at barely 2/3 of their normal pimp electro strength as they appeared to be missing integral third member, Con the fuzzy green drummer. I don't know what happened to the dude, for all I know he's probably still backstage at The Gov with Joel Carey and an entire 60's rock and roll hall of fame trying to find their way out've the broom closet in a haze of smoke. Without the drummer, this shit is just looking embarassing. Don't get me wrong here, I've seen them when they're at their best and they freaking ROCK! They're like Green Velvet and the Crystal Method meets the Wiggles by way of Bloodhound Gang on an orgiastic humping feast of dementia; they're freaking hilarious maaan! Tonight however, swigging back on their beers and stumbling about all half-arsed to luke warm crowd, they remind you of that one sad alcoholic uncle of yours you dress up as a clown at kids parties only to find them throwing up all over themselves before passing out square in the middle of the lit up birthday cake. With the synths and electronics turned down to a mouse fart, try as they might they just ain't getting it on tonight and as they finally leave the stage one lone voice shrieks exciteably "Encore! Encore!" they can only response with "hell no duude! We've already overstayed our welcome!" Ouch! You gotta feel for their pain, dontcha? (and considering we did THIS shit in Adelaide's laughable excuse for an "electronic music scene" with our own laughable excuse for a band for 5 years I know aaaaaall too well! fuck, no wonder I quit!).

SUPERPHATASSIt's at this point that I seriously consider abandoning ship before this Titanic takes me down to a watery depth with it. This rising tide of panic is not helped any further by the news that one of the bands, ambient act Sojourn have already fled for saftey by dropping off the bill just days before). Still, before I can do anything too hasty, reinforcements soon arrive in the form of second support act Superphatass at 10:45PM and in relief to all present, they're a marked improvement. This is partially due to PA finally being brought up above mousefarting levels (house mixers are constantly paranoid about cranking drum machines and laptops in pubs lest the speakers explode) but it may also be due to the lineup on stage looking considerably more fuckoff diabolical than 2 lunatics wearing animal pants (hahahaha please don't kill me!). Featuring a guitarist, electronic drummer and two dudes on the laptops, Superphatass make quite an impression; sounding like a slick combination of the filtered house beats of Pnau, the banging techno of Underworld and the 80's electro cheese of Depeche Mode with brooding monotone vocals in the style of Brian Molko from Placebo, this is really how live electronica should be. Sure they may've annoyed the piss out've me by switching off all the house lights to play in the dark (grrrrr!) and they may appear to be annoyed to piss themselves at the uterly tepid response from the crowd, and yet slowly but surely with their thumping beats and brooding grooves they're winning people over to the dancefloor.

MUNCHKINWith Superphatass finishing up their set to the tepid cheers of the 3-4 people on the dancefloor, the gathering crowd now finally stir from their eternal slumber and gathering around like eager little pink marshmellows set to roast in the campire lights out front for the final headlining act(whoaaaa what the hell kinda fuckarse mental imagery is that?) as Munchkin, in their moment of glory finally burst forth like a fireball on stage to much spastic hooting applause as they launch into their first song "Alone We Are Afraid". Yup, we're witnessing the end of an exceptionally long journey here tonight, they've spent almost a year and a half locked away in a studio going slowly insane, live drummers and keyboardists have come and gone, so many trials, tribulations and missing garden gnomes, it's a proud moment for these midgets as they finally see sunlight with basking glory of this shiny new album.. *sniff* look at them go! They're giving it their all out there on stage, their rent-a-crowd's going absolutely freaking apeshit, lead singer Kaliah Alice is flapping around exciteably like an eye melting sequin explosion shrieking her tiny lungs damn near inside out whilst her ever faithful obsidian gimps Geddy Walters and Dale Taylor lurk about in the shadows with backing bass and lead guitar punctuating the air with their smooth grooves. It's punching loud and epic, you can almost feel your internal organs trying to wrench themselves free of your skeletion and dance along, they're cranking all the hits from the album, they've even got 2 newer songs to unleash, everything's wooping it like bouncy castles until invariably as always seems to happen during a Munchkin gig (or for that matter any Circle Clan gig in days gone by) the soundsystem blows a valve and Munchkin's moment of triumph is reduced once more to the smouldering ruins of a mousefart (to the point I can actually hear Dale's guitar strings being plucked out there). The band continue to play on regardless (with both Dale and Geddy grumbling under their breath), reach the end of their set, feel like they're about to be violently ill, leave the stage in a spastic fanfare of hooting applause begging for more and then vow to get exceptionally stupifyingly drunk to forget it all. *Phew!*

After surviving a gig like that I too vowed to get exceptionally and stupendously drunk to forget it all and so after fleeing the gurgling death spiral into oblivion at Jive and with all the other rats swimming for safety to Lotus Lounge and Enigma, I sought my own refuge in the east end here at the Exeter at 1AM with aims to drink myself near unconscious in style.

It is here that I was soon joined by these 2 exceptionally inebriated idiots, Todd Smiley Man and Colonel Lindog from Trixie Plain, wooping it up after yet another howlingly successful smashoff frenzy in the front bar with Taught By Animals.

Stoner Andy appears to be all the worse for wear after fighting a losing battle with a damn near lethal combination of Lord Stompy's homemade absinthe, enough herbal tranquiliser to take down a sperm whale and round after round of vodka and red bulls.

Ryan here's been declared dead hours ago, it's just that no-one has noticed.

Whilst the ever infamous alcoholic trainwreck that is W Shane Forster is making an absolute mess of attempting to stay upright alongside Luke Ashby here.

Yup, with such esteemed and highclass individuals as these for company I should have absolutely NO problem in getting utterly shitfaced in the shortest possible span of time.

And so, after W Shane Forster had successfully shattered half of the glassware, made a small cyclone of the tables and chairs and inadvertantly picked fights with 1/2 of the bar patrons, we finally threw OURSELVES out've the Exeter (as clearly none of the bar staff had the decency to do this for us) only then to stumble blindly drunk like exciteable baboons into the Cranka to further our stupidity even further down the evolutionary scale. It is here as I'm waiting for service at the bar (whilst Stoner Andy attempts and fails to throw up in the toilets before going for yet another absinthe) that some drunk at the bar recognises me and gets all excited.

After we effectively reduced the Cranka to a smouldering ruin and made a total mess of the dancefloor whilst Fatboy Slum cranked out everything from The Doors, Led Zeppelin and The Pixies (duuuude, ROCK!!) we graciously kicked ourselves out've yet another pub at 4AM (as the security at the Cranka again clearly failed to do this for us) and continued our merry circling of the drain with our final destination at SHOTZ, where I'm soon set upon by hoards of screaming female fans who seem to be living under the mistaken impression that I'm some party crazed idiot called "Spoz" pffffft! what'ever gives you THAT crazy idea! :)

And so it is here at last, in this great big amnesic blank spot that we call the SHOTZ dancefloor that this week's journey finally draws to a close. Thankful as always that out've all the infinite possibilies, out've all the choices I could've made this weekend and all the crazy things I could've seen and done that would've reduced me to a foaming stain of fire ants, I managed once again to chose the most insane linear path through the chaos that still left me alive to tell the tale. For surely, in service to all you grinning idiots reading who read this every week and the crazy music scene you provide as my ammunition, you wouldn't have it any other way! :)